


In Which “Laura” Takes “Rob” Up On It. Alone.

by Edie_Rone



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Arcadia - Freeform, F/M, MSR, Masturbation, Suburban Lady hairdo, but it's funny and nobody gets hurt, delightfully wicked scully, frumpy twinset, i hate this episode, mother-in-law nightgown, mulder being a jackass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-24 07:07:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20354398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edie_Rone/pseuds/Edie_Rone
Summary: I wasn’t going to do this, I really wasn’t. Not here. It’s like trying to get off in your twin bed, sister asleep in the other twin bed three feet away, while your parents are having coffee in the sitting room with Father Murtagh. It feels weird and wrong.But I’m compelled. I am a healthy adult woman with a normal sex drive and I’m frustrated as hell and if I don’t get some release — soon — I’m going to “mysteriously disappear” Mulder myself.





	In Which “Laura” Takes “Rob” Up On It. Alone.

OK. Dammit.

I have been lying here for … one hour and seventeen minutes, and I’m no closer to sleep than when I first flopped down on this stupid FBI-warehouse prop bed.

He’s downstairs, on the couch, almost certainly asleep in front of what I think is _Gunsmoke_? Why.

I bet HE doesn’t have a hard time getting to sleep here. _He’s_ been bouncing all over this house, this entire case, acting like a jackass in that stupid, pink, collared polo shirt with his stupid brush cut and big fake smile — he named us after some goofy old TV couple, he keeps cracking “jokes” about honeymoon videos and me making him a sammich and all that crap, pretending he thinks I’m into this kind of life (as if he doesn’t know after all this time and everything I’ve stuck around for — as if he doesn’t know that I said good-bye to even the vaguest husband-house-2.5-kids-picket-fence fantasy _years_ ago) — like it’s just SO HILARIOUS, the thought of us ever being actually together.

That’s the part that really burns. We are at odds ever since … well, ever since a lot of shit this past year. And instead of using all this extra time we have together to work it out, he’s been making fun of me this whole case, which probably isn’t even an X-file. He’s making fun of me, and it hurts my feelings.

And but … ugh, he smells so good. Where does he get the nerve to smell so good? He puts his arms around me like he belongs there, he sits with his entire side glued to mine, and he’s so warm, and his arms are so buff, and his eyes are so … 

No.

I wore this stupid mother-in-law nightgown, that crazy green face mask (the first one I’ve ever bought — who has time for nightly spa treatments in real life? not me) — even my Suburban Lady hairdo and those frumpy twinsets — my whole schtick here is being as un-sexual as possible, both to try to damp down my own furnace for a few days and to make sure Mulder knows I’m Not Trying to Start Anything. I can actually hear the capital letters in my head. But it’s not working. The proximity to him is too much, and unlike in regular life, I get no break from him, no chance to take care of myself — if I know what I mean and I think I do — in peace.

I wasn’t going to do this, I really wasn’t. Not here. It’s like trying to get off in your twin bed, sister asleep in the other twin bed three feet away, while your parents are having coffee in the sitting room with Father Murtagh. It feels weird and wrong.

But I’m compelled. I am a healthy adult woman with a normal sex drive and I’m frustrated as hell and if I don’t get some release — soon — I’m going to “mysteriously disappear” Mulder myself.

What would he have done if, when he patted the bed and said “Come on, Laura, you know … we’re married now,” what if — what if I’d just said “fuck it” and gone over to him?

_He’d be shocked, but I’d be able to tell he was into it. He’d —_

Wait. I’m not in that nightgown, or the mask. I’m in … hmm. Something slinky. A dark blue silky thing, very simple, no lace — spaghetti straps, slippery material, no bra. Mid-thigh length. Definitely no panties.

So:_ “Come on, Scully, you know… we’re married now.” _

Eeeesh, wait! No. Laura — I’m Laura in this scenario.

_“Come on, Laura …” He pats the bed, pretty sure I won’t take him up on it. _

_A sly smile. The eyebrow. Then I walk over to him, nice and slow, and his eyes go wide. I motion for him to move over, give me some room, and he does, with a quickness I find amusing. I ease down onto the bed next to him and lean in for a kiss. _

_Soft. Gentle. He can’t believe it, can’t believe this is happening — but he’s hungry for it; he kisses me back, harder. I can feel his heartbeat under my palm, fast and jumpy. _

_He brings his hand up to my breast, rough against the delicate fabric, first a little tentative, then more sure, stronger. Pinches my nipple, making me gasp into his mouth — “Oh!”_

Shhh! Gah! Quiet, dammit.

_He takes me in his arms, shifts us so that he’s half on top of me, his legs holding mine in place, rubbing against me — _

His pants are off already, yeah.

_… rubbing against me and I can feel his erection, hot and hard along my thigh. I sigh as his tongue meets mine — oh, he tastes good — then dabs little kisses on my eyelids, my temple, that spot just behind my ear. I shiver, it’s like champagne bubbling down my spine, all the way to my fingertips, my toes. _

_He pinches my other nipple, harder, and I moan — low, deep in my throat, barely any sound escaping. His hand travels down, down, stroking my body, tickling my side a little — his breath in my ear, his other hand in my hair, my scalp tingles with pleasure. I feel his bare skin against me _

The T-shirt is off, too. Also I’m wearing panties after all because

_…his bare skin against me, and then his hand is snaking up underneath my nightie, tracing the edge of my silky underwear. I squirm, wanting more, but he’s teasing me, almost laughing as he kisses me, running his fingers on either side of the center, across the top of the elastic, all over except where I want them most. His free hand leaves my hair to pinch and stroke at my breasts and he’s driving me crazy, this torture is too much — _

_And then he cups my mons, his fingers making contact with the soaked-through center of my panties and he gasps so loudly that I —_

Fuck. I bite my lip, hard, to keep myself quiet.

_“Jesus, Scully, you’re so wet,” he moans into my ear. _

_“Mmmm, for you …” _

_He grabs the fabric roughly and yanks it out of the way, down to my knees, then — oh! — two long fingers slide inside me, quickly covered in my juices. My head is thrown back, I’m breathing in short little gasps as he thrusts into me, slowly, pressing up into the spongy tissue each time he withdraws, while using his thumb to spread the slickness up, down, to the sides, all over and just grazing the edge of my clit. How does he know what I like, we’ve never done this before … _

_And just when it starts to be too much, the pressure on my g-spot, he slips out of me and uses two fingers to lazily circle my aching clit — my thighs are rigid, my calves flexed so hard it’s almost painful._

_“God, Mulder, please —”_

No! It’s … it’s Rob … and I’m —

_He speeds up — I’m so close —_

_“I’m gonna make you come, Scully,” he whispers. _

Laura —

_He strokes downward right on the bundle of nerves, then back up, faster, faster, just a little harder. _

_“Come for me, baby —”_

_And I do — ohhhhh, I do. _

_I come so hard I see stars behind my clenched eyelids. I can’t quiet the inelegant sounds I’m making, but he doesn’t care, he’s so turned on by watching me transported, rapturous … he kisses me all over while I return to earth, his arms wrapping around me, holding me tight. After what seems like hours, I remember how hard he was against me, and go to take his cock in my hand …_

And he’s not there.

My eyes open, finally, in the dark. I’m still breathing like I’ve been chasing down a suspect, my throat is parched, I’m warm and sluggish from my orgasm — but of course it was solo the whole time. I’m not even in his bed like I was a second ago; I’m essentially on a theater set, hoping like hell that I didn’t have an audience.

But — surprisingly — this time, I’m not sorry I used Mulder as fantasy fuel; that was good stuff. And now I feel like I have something on him, a little secret for myself. I can’t help the wicked little grin I know is on my face right now. This is definitely going to make it easier to play my role tomorrow. Heh.

I’m finally sleepy enough to drop off, but I’m so thirsty — first I have to get a drink of water. I’m sure Mulder’s been asleep for hours now, so I creep downstairs like a ninja. Some old cops-and-robbers thing flickers soundlessly on the TV. I pad into the kitchen, where the under-cabinet lighting is on, for some reason — and nearly have a heart attack when a rough, faintly abashed voice says “Hey, Scully.”

I whip around to see Mulder standing there, in boxers and a T-shirt, glass of water in hand.

“Jesus, Mulder! What the hell are you doing?”

He shuffles his feet, not meeting my eyes. “Just — you know, got thirsty.”

Something’s not right. His spiky hair is mussed up, his nipples are standing out against his shirt, the front of his shorts is kind of askew — he won’t look at me, he’s … blushing?

Was he — did I just barely miss him conducting his own solo flight?

He clears his throat, runs a hand through his hair, looks like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Then he meets my eyes and I just — I know.

He was.

And the way he’s acting, I know it didn’t have anything to do with what was on TV. I’ve accidentally caught him at_ that_ before. This is … different. Oh god. While he was starring in my R-rated one-woman show, I was on the couch doing god only knows what to him. I just stand there, my brain stuttering and misfiring, trying to come up with some way to end this and get out of here, back upstairs to safety.

And then I see the realization dawning on _him_.

“So … what are _you_ doing up at this hour?” he says, tilting his head, a smile starting on his stupid delectable mouth.

_Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck._

“Thinking about the case,” I lie idiotically.

His knowing grin makes me warm all over, infuriating as it is.

“That so?”

“Yes,” I say, in a tone that I hope brooks no argument. I grab a glass from the cabinet, fill it, take a drink — why is he standing so close? And why does he SMELL SO GOOD? His usual scent is overlaid with something muskier, undeniably sexual … I close my eyes as I take a sip, willing myself to hold it together.

He laughs, low and throaty, fresh kindling on the embers I thought I’d safely banked.

“You should ‘think about cases’ more often, then,” he says, leaning into my space, close enough for his breath to stir the hair at my temple. “Thinking about cases looks good on you.”

This — this will not stand.

And you know what? Fuck it.

Fuck this, fuck the case, and fuck him. I’m taking charge of this situation, right now.

“That’s why I do it,” I practically purr, tilting my head back to lock eyes with him. “Frequently.” He swallows, and I smile a dirty, secret smile. “Almost every day. Sometimes twice.”

His mouth falls open gracelessly, the smug look vanished from his face.

“I think about cases all the time — midafternoon at the office, early mornings before work, when I’m waiting for you in the car …” Ohhh, this is fun. I take another sip of water, lick my lips, sigh, let my voice drop almost to a whisper: “While I’m on the phone with you.”

He makes a strangulated-sounding noise, so desperate I almost laugh.

“Don’t you … think about cases?” I ask innocently, waiting a beat before I glance downward. The bulge in his boxers is the most gratifying thing I have ever seen. I’m filled with a righteous surge of power — and I’m gonna leave on a high note.

I shift my glass to my left hand, holding his gaze. There’s a drop of water on my right hand, splashed from the tap. I lick it off, then pop my middle finger into my mouth. I smile again as I draw it out — a little slower than necessary, savoring the taste of myself — then turn to leave, Mulder absolutely immobile and dumbstruck.

I look back over my shoulder and say, “Thinking about cases looks good on you, too.”

I’m halfway up the stairs before he manages, in what I think he thinks is a suave voice, “I — we could — do that together sometime?”

I just laugh, clicking the bedroom door shut. I’m going to sleep well tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the XF Writing Challenge Prompt: Release


End file.
